


An Inkling of Your Heart

by mutanitys (chekov)



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Flirting, Florists, Fluff, M/M, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-12
Updated: 2016-07-12
Packaged: 2018-07-23 14:06:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7466247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chekov/pseuds/mutanitys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To Erik, his flower shop is often a sanctuary, a peaceful getaway where he can get his mind to quieten down. That is, until a tattoo artist named Charles Xavier inadvertently interrupts this tranquility. </p>
<p>Or maybe it's all done with intention.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Inkling of Your Heart

It’s seven-thirty in the morning when the first customer enters the shop.

Shaken out of his reverie by the overhead bell — and he was just getting started on the bouquet of orchids, damn it — Erik looks up and frowns, glancing at the clock irately. Perhaps it’s bad business etiquette to look as disgruntled as he does at the sight of a potential buyer, but really. The shop isn’t even opened yet. The least they can do is read the goddamn sign.

“Sorry,” Erik says sharply, using a tone he knows commands attention and shuts up any resistance. “We’re still closed. If you come back in an hour or so —"

“Oh! Pardon me, sir, I should have called out to see if anyone was here before interrupting.“

The stranger whirls around, a boyish grin on his face. But it’s not the charmingly lopsided, toothy smile that draws Erik’s attention, nor the blue eyes that look far too lively for ass-o’clock in the morning. It’s the long, winding dragon that curves around the stranger’s neck and disappearing under a god-awful lilac sweater that makes Erik stop short in his tracks. The dragon’s body is covered in intricate scales, almost shining in the way they’re beautifully shaded, and Erik follows it to reach the dragon’s open jaw, right near the man’s Adam’s apple. Even a man with no knowledge of tattoos like Erik can tell it’s an exceptional piece — mesmerising with all its fine details, made all the more intriguing when paired up with the bright-eyed yet calm expression the man is wearing because for some reason, Erik thinks people with dragon tattoos are not the type to say _pardon me, sir_.

“Yeah, well, your apology is not going to persuade me to make an exception.” Erik points at the door. “Out.”

“Maybe not my apology, but perhaps your sympathy will?” There’s a flash of mischief in his eyes that makes Erik step back instinctively, part wary but mostly intrigued by the man. “I’m Charles. Charles Xavier.” He offers a hand that sports a tattoo of some kind of constellation, running from the base of his palm and over to the back of his hand.

Erik takes it, trying hard not to stare.

“Xavier…” The name sits on the tip of his tongue, itching to be let out. And then it clicks. “Wait. Xavier, as in the tattoo shop? Down the street?“

This moment of recognition lights up Charles’ face in a very distracting smile, eyes wide in excitement and pride. He’s practically shining like a damn Christmas tree and Erik loathes how it’s nearly contagious in nature.

“Yes! Yes, that’s right. You know about my parlour?”

Of course Erik knows it. The tattoo parlour’s classy _‘Xavier_ ’ sign has been the envy of the street from its very first day, and on slow days Erik has stared long and hard at the tinted windows, wondering what really goes on behind there but never curious enough to step inside. He would never have thought the owner to be this… harmless-looking.

Erik needs to re-evaluate what predisposed assumptions he’s been harbouring.

“Yes,” he answers instead, still frowning. “But what’s that got to do with anything?“

“Well… Erik,” begins Charles with a quick glance at his name tag. “I’m in a bit of a situation here. A client has requested a tattoo of a peony, but surprise! She hasn’t brought a reference picture for me to work with.”

“Okay.“

Charles blinks. “So, uh. You… don’t happen to have peonies here, do you?”

Erik snorts, looking affronted. “Of course I do! What kind of a florist do you take me for?”

“An exceptionally generous one,” answers Charles easily. “I’d like to buy a couple of stalks, if you don’t mind.“

“Why peonies? They’re hardly anything to be admired. Nothing exquisite like dahlias, or white lotuses,” Erik can’t help but ask as he walks to the left row of shelves, picking between pots to reach the peonies.

“I don’t tend to ask my customers the backstories of their designs, but tattoos don’t always have to be complicated or ostentatious.”

“Well, kind of a pity to go through all that pain and not being able to show it off, right?“

Erik deftly wraps the flowers in a clear plastic wrap, more out of habit that actual concern for presentation. When he glances at Charles, there’s an amused expression on his face.

“What?”

“Has it ever occurred to you, Erik, that tattoos may be something to be enjoyed in private?“

He decides to give a shrug in reply. “I don’t really think about tattoos all that much.”

When Charles hands him cash in silence, Erik is fooled into thinking that this is where their conversation ends — much to his relief, really. He’s already starting to lose his vision of the ideal orchid bouquet. He hands Charles his two stalks of pastel pink peonies with an artificial smile and gets a genuine one in return, and Charles says over his shoulder:

“Well, we can change that, can’t we?“

 

*

 

Aside from his polite diction and an air of grace that somehow makes room for underlying mischief, like he has a secret up his sleeve, Charles Xavier also proves to be a man of sincere words.

Somehow, the tattooist’s visits become more frequent, alternating between afternoon, just after the last of the lunch-rush customers have trickled out of Erik’s shop and right after closing time. Most of the time, Charles picks one or two flowers out for reference, or spends a long time in front of the displays scrutinising certain bouquets before Erik has enough and kicks him out. But sometimes he sits by the cash register with seemingly endless stream of questions, his inquiries so natural that soon Erik doesn’t even think twice when he sees Charles walking through the door.

“Don’t you have a shop to take care of?” It occurs to Erik one day as they sit on the table by the large display window, staring at the mostly empty street with mugs of tea in their hands.

“Not to worry, it’s not exactly peak season right now. It’s the beauty of only being of service with an appointment.”

“ _That_ high in demand, huh?” Erik asks, half-joking.

“You have no idea.“

 

*

 

“Inkless tattoos.”

“Inkless — shut up, that’s bullshit.“

“No, really!” Charles gestures with his can of beer sloshing precariously in hand. “So instead of ink in the needle, there’s water, and you’re practically left with a… a scar-like mark, and.. and it disappears in a month!”

It’s been a slow day, and Charles’ invitation for Erik to visit his shop for a change had come at the perfect time. As soon as he closes up shop, he has briskly walked to the tattoo parlour, only spared some time to admire the modern yet cozy interior of the shop before he’s whisked away by Charles himself.

Charles’ employees have then been sent home, and there was nothing else left for them to do except break into the packs of beer stashed in Charles’ fridge.

Erik laughs, props his chin on his hand. The third can is starting to make him feel a little woozy. “Why would anyone want to get something like that?“

“I’ve had quite a few teenagers coming into the shop with a terrified friend in tow, asking for an inkless tattoo as a punishment.”

“That’s brutal. Kids these days.“

“They end up liking the experience, actually,” shrugs Charles. “Doesn’t hurt as much as they first feared, usually.”

“Where is it less likely to hurt?“

“A tattoo? Hmm… where you’ve got a lot of muscle. So for you,” Charles lets his gaze run up and down Erik’s form, and Erik can’t help the shiver of pleasure running up his spine. “Probably your bicep.”

“I’d like to get one sometimes,” says Erik before he can stop his mouth.

And because Charles is a cunning son of a bitch who doesn’t let a single opportunity slip, his grin thins down into a challenging smirk and he whispers, “How do you feel about getting one right now?“

 

*

 

When Erik wakes up the next morning nursing a slight hangover and sporting a brand-new dragon tattoo on his bicep — a mini version of Charles’, he realises — he groans and buries his head back into the pillow.

“I have the worst luck,” he mourns, because Erik wishes he remembers what Charles had looked like with a needle between his fingers, hand steady and professional even under the haze of alcohol. Instead, all he remembers is a mop of brown hair and red lips puckered up in concentration.

 

*

 

The bell chimes just before noon. Erik doesn’t have to turn around to know it’s Charles’ humming that he hears.

“Another rose for a gothic-inspired tattoo? Or is it a cherry blossom this time for some gentleman’s arm?”

There’s a curiously pleasant sensation in Erik’s chest when Charles rolls his eyes and laughs, almost comparable to the satisfaction he feels whenever he’s done putting together a particularly challenging bouquet. As if on instinct, he clears his workspace beside the cash register and rearranges the flowers to the side to make enough room for two cups of coffees, two pairs of hands and a lot of talking.

“I can’t stay for long this time, I’m afraid,” Charles says apologetically even as he removes his gloves.

“Oh,” Erik stops, frowning. “Busy day at work, I take it?“

“Busy day indeed — but not work.”

Now Erik chances a proper look at Charles’ face and — god his heart must have stopped for a lot more than a beat then. What is usually a faint glimmer in his eyes is now replaced by an almost maniacal gleam, sharp and focused and full of anticipation and devilishly handsome.

“Whip me up the most romantic bouquet you’ve got.”

“ _Whip me up_!’ Erik breaks into chuckles, before the connotations of the words slowly dawn on him and he cuts off his laughter with a hitch in his voice, eyebrows crinkling. “The most… romantic?“

“You heard me,” nods Charles in confirmation, the smirk still not dropping from his lips.

Erik’s heart thuds in his chest painfully, picking up speed until his head feels light-headed. “It’s not Valentine’s yet. A special occasion?”

“Just thinking of asking someone out.“

And just like that, an ugly, angry feeling of jealousy kicks up a storm in the pit of Erik’s stomach. He tries to maintain his composure, curbing the desire to snap at Charles and tell him to _find another florist, goddammit._

“Oh. Well, that’s wonderful.” His voice doesn’t come out as enthusiastic as he wants it to, but at this point Erik is amazed that he hasn’t blown up in a disappointed, furious rage yet. He picks up a catalogue abruptly from the shelf beside him, never meeting Charles’ eyes once. “When?”

“Right after this.“

Erik tries not to let the sting show. “Would something like this suffice?”

It’s a simple pink-and-white ensemble with dashes of miniature calla for a touch of yellow. It’s Erik’s personal favourite — why he’s willingly sharing that with someone who’s about to take his only sole reason for happiness apart from flowers is beyond him, but Charles always has a way of getting the best even when he doesn’t say a word.

Charles’ toothy grin grows even wider. “That’s perfect.“

After a moment of thick silence, Erik blurts outs, “Pretty?”

“Hm?“

“The person you’re asking out,” Erik clears his throat. “Pretty?”

“Gorgeous.“

Charles utters the word with such reverence that Erik has to shut his eyes and calm his breathing for a moment. _No good getting worked up in front of a — a friend like this, when it’s every reason to celebrate. Can’t you be happy for a friend?_

It only takes Erik a few minutes to assemble the bouquet as Charles tries to make conversation — but the truth is Erik’s head is so far removed from his body that his arms are moving mechanically and his thoughts are a stream of nothing but the prospect of Charles dating, of Charles giving someone that charming smile to someone else, of Erik having to endure stories of his adventures and fantasies about some pretty human who has somehow won the angel’s affections —

Before the beginnings of angry tears can form, Erik turns around with a stiff and smile. “All done.”

Charles abruptly stops talking, staring at the bouquet. “Erik. This is lovely.” Here, he meets Erik’s gaze, and if he can detect any hints of sadness or regret or hurt in Erik’s eyes, he doesn’t say. “Thank you.“

“Anything for you, Charles,” he says, and maybe his smile is pained and forced but at least he means every single word of it. “Good luck.”

“I will need it!” And just like that, Charles hops off the high chair and walks out of the shop, leaving the happy tinkling of the bell in his wake.

Erik walks slowly to the storeroom at the back of the shop, feeling his leaden legs drag his pathetic form to sit on a stool. A long, shuddering breath escapes his lips and buries his face in his hands because there are thorns in his chest, there is something there that isn’t letting him breathe quite so easily, like iron bands around his torso, and he’s on the verge of tears and it’s embarrassing because really, some tattooist’s love life should not be affecting him this much.

Except Charles is so much more than the tattooist down the road — he’s Erik’s friend, Erik’s reason to get up earlier in the morning to get the store looking decent whenever he feels like sleeping in, a stimulant better than any caffeine beverage —

The stupid bell chimes again and Erik doesn’t even pause before shouting, “Sorry, we’re closed for the rest of today!”

When he doesn’t hear the bell chime again, he curses and stalks out of the storeroom.

He’s about to argue, herd the customer out of the door because Erik just wants to be alone right now but he freezes when he sees Charles, standing there, grinning self-satisfactorily and the bouquet Erik has just put together in his hands

“Wha — what are you doing here?” Erik frowns, but something that screams hope bubbles up in him. “What about your date?”

“Well, I’m hoping that he’s standing right in front of me.” Charles takes a step forward, and Erik swears he might pass out right there and then. Charles holds up the flowers in front of Erik’s face, the action reminiscent of a blushing schoolboy but his eyes teasing, wicked in the way it seems to delight in Erik’s internal battle.

“Erik Lehnsherr… would you like to grab dinner with me sometime?“

A thousand and one responses jump at Erik’s mind with varying degrees of enthusiasm, relief, surprise and annoyance at having his heart crushed and revived all in the space of 10 minutes. “Honestly,” he growls instead, gripping Charles’ shoulders. “You are impossible.”

“I had to make this interesting _somehow_ ,” he protests. “I thought I was being quite forward with all my little visits and our conversations, but you did exactly nothing about them. I’m hardly the one to blame.“

“Well, what was I supposed to do?”

“This.”

Before Erik can formulate a coherent response, Charles spins them around to press Erik right up the glass door of the entrance and attack his mouth, lips pressing insistently against Erik’s own. Erik wastes no time in reciprocating, letting his mouth fall open and allowing Charles to lick the roof of his mouth, bite at his lower lip as Erik tries to bring him impossibly closer. He settles a hand on Charles’ cheek and tilts his head to pull Charles’ lower lip between his own, kissing it over and over again until Charles pulls away to mouth along Erik’s jaw, sucking at the point below his ear and licking down, urged by the symphony of Erik’s pleased groans.

“People can see us like this,” he gasps between Charles’ nips at his neck. “Wait.”

He pulls Charles off him and manoeuvres them with some difficulty to the storeroom, where he impatiently slams the door closed and pressed Charles against it, slipping his knee between Charles’s legs and hearing a small whimper in reply. Charles tries to reel him back in by the nape, tongue darting out to wet his lips as he begins to mouth at Erik’s neck again.

“No,” Erik groans. “I want to do that. I’ve been wanting to do that since you first walked into the fucking store.“

Charles raises an eyebrow. “What, kiss your own neck?”

“Shut up.” Erik dips down and presses a fleeting kiss to the spot below Charles’ collar bone — right where the tail of the dragon starts.

“Oh — oh,” Charles moans in realisation, as Erik begins to nibble along the dragon’s curled spine. Nipping at his clavicle, traces the dragon’s back along his neck, sucking a mark where the shading is particularly intense. When he pulls back, the red mark is camouflaged by the intricate scales of the dragon’s back.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs. He feels Charles’ hand grip at his left bicep, the one with the ‘tattoo’ that is almost fading away.

“Gorgeous,” repeats Charles. Erik dips back down in frustration, so overwhelmed by affection that he kisses with a newfound fervour, his mouth working against Charles’ and pulling away occasionally with a smacking sound.

“What other tattoos do you have, darling?” mumbles Erik into his skin as Charles pants, hands slightly quavering from stimulation.

“You’ll — have — to find out, don’t you?” Erik eagerly slips his hands under Charles’ shirt, tugging it up to divest him of it when Charles pulls him off of his neck by his hair. “I mean — after the first date.“

“No, fuck that,” Erik snaps before attempting to resume his previous endeavours. Charles grips him hard by the shoulders.

“Erik, wait. Please. I want —“ Here Charles looks hopeless, almost scared — something Erik has never seen before in his face. Charles is usually so cocksure, so absolute in his actions that this hesitation is enough for Erik to momentarily shake himself out of his haze of desire.

“What do you want?” He mutters, thumbing Charles’ soft cheek.

“I want to do this properly,” breathes out Charles in an almost-whisper. “I don’t want this to just be a fuck. Or two, three fucks. I want you to be mine and me to be yours, and no one else’s. Because I like you. A lot.” Charles’ hands skim down his sides, reaching around to grip his ass and roll their hips together, pulling out a stuttered moan out of Erik. “And I don’t want you to be anyone else’s.”

“If you want a proper date, then stop this,” he motions at Charles’ possessive hold. “This is unfair.“

“So, is that a yes?”

“Of course it’s a yes, anything you want.” Erik says this in a rush, desperately, but a content smile settles on his lips. “You know, you’re not as harmless as you look.”

“Darling, there’s so much more to me than meets the eye.“

“You said something about enjoying tattoos in private?”

“After the first date.“

Erik laughs, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of Charles’ lips as his arms come up to wrap around Erik’s neck affectionately.

“Worth the wait.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was written with very little knowledge about tattoos. Would love it if ideas/enlightenment were sent my way, because this AU is a cool (and sexy) one to explore!
> 
> tumblr: mutanitys

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Dragons and Hearts and Flowers (An Inkling of Your Heart Remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15274470) by [IreneADonovan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IreneADonovan/pseuds/IreneADonovan)
  * [Peonies (Remix of An Inkling of Your Heart)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15280791) by [Fullmetalcarer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fullmetalcarer/pseuds/Fullmetalcarer)




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